Revolutionary
by Pyre13
Summary: She likes to think of the Patriot's as a forest fire, burning away everything rotten and dead or dying, peeling back the brush and leaving new growth in the wake of their passing. CM/BM Charloe


The Republic had flourished like a weed after the storm that had been the Patriots, sometimes she wasn't sure how many of the people in it knew there had even been a time when it had all fallen apart; crumbling like dust around their ears. But it had left seeds in its wake, slumbering in the ashes. She'd been one, Miles and Monroe the others, or maybe just Monroe; it's hard to remember, maybe her and Miles had just been the gardeners; taming, shaping, guiding...

She likes to think of the Patriot's as a forest fire, burning away everything rotten and dead or dying, peeling back the brush and leaving new growth in the wake of their passing. The Patriot commanders are dust now, dead, burned and buried, along with their diseases, their bombs and their vile, enchanting speeches about loyalty and the New Order. Their Order had been an old one, an ancient one, and there was no space in this world for the old. The time before the Blackout is long forgotten and the world will never be the same, no matter how many people wish it. They've lost so much, and gained a thousand times more.

She remembers being a little girl, walking down the street with her mothers hand gripping hers like a vice, her words like an echo every time they stepped out the door; "Don't let go, don't wander off, don't speak to strangers." She knows for a fact if she glances out the window, there will be a posse of children playing, fighting, shouting and screaming on the front lawn of the big house, all the way from the doorstep to the pub across the road. Probably 'Patriots and Revolutionaries', tall Nick Wallace from number 9 will be Miles, and Mark Watkins from Drovers Road will be Monroe. None of them are being dragged around by terrified mothers, guarded by their fathers, none of them are scared. She wonders if maybe they should be; peace doesn't last.

The militia is disbanded, long ago, they are a different animal altogether now, Monroe calls them 'family', the Republic calls them 'Peace Keepers', Charlie likes to think of them as functional. A family of thousands can still crash and burn.

The New American Republic stretches for a thousand miles in every direction, bordered on all sides where Miles thought it best to set their frontier, the great deserts of the Plains Nation to the West, Texas below, and Mexico to the South, their borders are tighter than a drum, and no weapons move in or out. Georgia had helped of course, throwing their remaining might behind Charlie when word spread that the sword that took the Presidents head had been hers. Rebuilding Atlanta and Boston had never been on the cards, the ground was sterile now and would be for a hundred years, but there are new, smaller cities, all over the country flourishing just as well. None of them are rich, but none of them are poor. The Patriots had brought a continents wealth of diamonds, gold and silver. Georgia was rich in both and the Monroe Republic had had copper smoking out its shiny ears. Rachel had had the ingenuity to start minting them into coins, it would never be complicated but it worked.

The house around her was grand, it had been a gift, empty and ruined when they had found it, Miles had poured a fortune into local men to rebuild it, Rachel filling the place with women weaving and painting and polishing. It was beautiful, but no nicer than the ten smaller buildings around it.

Ten years had passed since the fall of the Patriots; Militia and true believers in the return of a government had flocked to their banners, to her, and to Connor, eventually they had forgiven Bass too. They had a government of sorts now, a country led by a council, still a dictatorship Rachel smiled, but one that worked. A council of ten, Rachel, Gene, Monroe, Miles, Connor, Adam and Priscilla, herself, Illeria and Thommen. It had taken all of their strength to pull the Nano into line, Adam and Priscilla had been the ones to do it, Priscilla birthing the twins Illeria and Thommen in the year of the Patriot fall. Allowing the two commanders of the Nano to take human form, giving them life. Charlie had thought that maybe it wouldn't work, the Nano would refuse, they would choose new leaders, Adam said that wasn't how it worked, the children 'were' Tommen and Illeria, in every sense. All across the Republic children were being born here and there, Nano, all of them, but human first. Illeria and Thommen were unique, the only Nano who would retain their memories from birth. The gift of life was one they would embrace fully, no advantages, no powers; human, all of them, for good or evil. It would take nearly three hundred years Rachel had claimed, to pull all of the Nano into humanity, maybe then the power would come back, but not before. The Republic had to survive, Charlie wouldn't be there but maybe her great granddaughters and grandsons would survive to know what was coming. Charlie had no doubt the return of the power would mean the return of anarchy and war. The Republic would be ready, they would not fall again.

She wasn't sure if it would last, if it would work, three hundred years was an unmeasurable volume of time, but it worked for now. Texas, the long standing democracy was flourishing still. Aided by the Republic in claiming the Plains Nations as it's territory they were slowing bringing peace to the West, the California Commonwealth was slowly retaking the wastelands and for now, all three were in accordance.

Humanity was thriving again, all around her happiness bloomed; it was the Nano, the children, she knew that, Adam had instilled a will to be 'good' in them that she couldn't comprehend, not just orders and code, but a true human empathy. He'd put himself into them, with all the sweetness that hinted at. The Nano would be powerful, or they would be weak, as they chose in life, but they would choose with the echo of Arran's heart in every thought.

"Dwelling again?" It's not a question, not really, and she quirks her head at Connor. He's been watching her for minutes now, it's not unusual, he's no threat to her, his loyalty, like his fathers, unbending once given. He'd follow her to hell and back; he already has. He's her Monroe, just like Bass was her fathers; she's lucky maybe, in that Bass is hers too, but then maybe Connor is Miles'. Lord knows he needs some light in the dark. Monroe and Matheson, bound together like human and Nano. It's a fair comparison, her Monroe's are soft creatures at heart, easily broken, she wonders if Adam thought of that...

"Wondering what took you so long," there's no sting in the remark, a wry tilt of her lips and a flash of teeth, all he gets before she takes the reins from him and mounts. The horse is nothing special, brown and skinny, legs a little too long. It's been with her for a while. Connor's is new, again; a flashy white stallion, all menace and rage, it snaps it's hooves at her gelding in the fraction of a second before Connor twitches the reigns in reprimand. Like every horse he's ever met, it's butter in his hands, Connor's like that, one look and most things melt in his wake. Tilting her head she gives him a long look, and wonders for a moment if this is who Bass might have been had tragedy spared him all those years ago. Despite the twinge of guilt, she's glad this isn't Bass.

"Texas again?" She's not one to attend the meetings, she's the one picking dirt out of her nails in the yard, flooring new recruits and picking them back up again, waiting for Connor to turn up with her horse, and her orders.

"Scotland." Connor smirks, and her arch of surprise will give him a grin for a week. "The harbours are all reporting the same thing, Scottish ships in the Pacific, only four have landed, but they all have the same message."

"We've not the men to fight another war, with half the army in the West." Connor flashes her a grin, and she smiles, not war then.

"They've taken half of Europe if you believe the rumours, Russia and Japan have taken the rest, Germany have everything north, Australia and New Zealand stand firm, the ships are bearing representatives from every nation. All asking the same question."

"Why did the lights go out?" She hazards a guess.

"Are we re-joining the world."

Sighing, she sits deeper in her saddle and nudges the gelding forward down the lawns and out through the towns walls. Once again she's riding to answer questions she doesn't have all the answers to, but she's riding out with Connor, and she's riding home to Bass, and those are all the answers she needs right now.


End file.
